


i'm sick of meaning, i just wanna hold you

by gayboris



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: M/M, Underage Drinking, featuring one of boris's many xandra stories, underage but they just kiss, which also features gross janet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 14:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21209873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayboris/pseuds/gayboris
Summary: theo helps boris vomit when they're drunk. set in vegas.





	i'm sick of meaning, i just wanna hold you

“No, no, no, I swear, Potter — the way she looked at me yesterday. I could tell, I am getting there, I swear I am!” Boris spit between giggles. So fucking stupid, Theo thought. Xandra? Actually into him? There was never a possibility, and surely Boris knew that.

“Okay, what happened now? Did she give you some gum, say you could watch TV with her?” he slouched down on the couch and took another swig of vodka. It was Friday night, the best night for heavy drinking. No chance at all that Larry or Xandra would be back until the next morning or, more realistically, afternoon, and no hangovers at school. They’d already been watching TV for hours, and now Boris was at his most talkative, which was really a lot.

“No, Potter, no. You will not believe.” he gestured messily with his arms for dramatic effect. He was wearing a grey shirt that was much too big, and Theo could see his collarbones peeking out over the top. “So I am walking into the kitchen, minding my own business, your dad is in the garage. Her friend, Janet, is over, you know the one?”

“Yeah, I know the one.”

“So Janet is watching me come in, and she is interested, we know this. She’s looking at me, giving me sexy eyes, and soon I am leaving, but Boris,” she says, Boris, do you have any tattoos? No, I say. Have almost gotten them before, but never gone through with it. She shows me one on her ankle, is in Chinese. Apparently means ‘peace’ or ‘serenity,’ fucking stupid, probably really says ‘arsehole,’ I am sure she wouldn’t know the difference—“

“Boris, where is this going, I really don’t give a shit about—“

“I am getting there, Potter, getting there! And she says, Xandra has one too, show him Xandra! And she lifts the back of her shirt, God, so sexy, and— TRAMP STAMP, POTTER!” he roared with laughter and grabbed the vodka from Theo’s hand, gulping down the last few ounces of it.

Theo felt his face redden. “Fucking liar! She did not!” But Boris was nodding so vigorously that his hair shook, and Theo remembered, much to his dismay, that Xandra did in fact have a tramp stamp, as so tactfully put by Boris, of something resembling wings. One very unfortunate glance as she’d bent over to pick up her wine glass one day had confirmed that. Since then, he’d very purposefully stopped looking anywhere other than her face when he was forced to interact with her.

“She did! Maybe was hesitant at first, but she showed me! Angel’s wings, beautiful, I swear.” he put a hand over his heart, ever so sincere. “Take a look the next time you see her. Got a good look at her arse, too, when she lifted—”

“I need more vodka.” Theo hoisted himself up from the couch, and Boris stumbled behind him up to their room, Popchik trailing behind them, Boris blathering on about Xandra. The story didn’t mean anything, the thought of Boris getting with Xandra was overwhelmingly grotesque, and from what Theo had actually seem of the interactions between the two of them, she thought so, too. He worried about Janet, though, she really did make sexy eyes at Boris, fix her hair, adjust her bra when he came into the room. His chest tightened thinking about it.

Boris slid the closet door open and grabbed the vodka, unscrewing it and taking long gulps. Theo watched his pale Adam’s apple bob back and forth as he drank, then grabbed the bottle and took a few gulps.

“Blyad,” Boris choked out, “had so much pizza tonight.” he nodded meaningfully at the empty pizza box on the floor near the bed. His voice was different, worrying, as he laid down on the carpet.

“Yeah, Boris, you ate, like, the whole fucking thing.” he shoved the vodka back into the closet. “Boris?”

“Mm.”

“You— you good?”

“Never better.” he said, and Theo would’ve believed him if he hadn’t turned around to see that he was clutching his stomach, slowly drawing his long legs into his body. Popchik whined.

“Boris, get up.”

“Nooooo,” he drawled, face contorting in pain. “Am going to sleep here.”

Theo stood there by the closet for a second, helpless. “Please, Boris?” 

Boris didn’t move. Theo dropped down next to him. “C’mon, Boris, let’s go to the bathroom.” he moved to hoist him, managing to get Boris’s arm around his neck, and finally Boris started to stand, cursing in Russian, almost pulling Theo to the ground under his weight. 

“Jesus, Boris!” Theo started laughing as they tried to move. Boris laughed with him, and they actually got all the way up together, until Boris gagged and sprinted suddenly to the bathroom. Theo ran after him, still laughing, but stopped abruptly when he heard the sounds coming from the bathroom. His skin went cold, hearing Boris groan in pain. When he pushed the door open, Boris was hunched over the toilet, white-not-quite-white-socked-feet bent underneath him. Nothing yet, but he was retching and spitting into the toilet bowl.

Theo kneeled next to him and moved to put his arm around Boris, but stopped himself. Instead, he took hold of the long, curly hair that was falling in Boris’s face, a whole handful, and it was softer than he expected, and suddenly Boris was falling forward, whole body wrenching with the force as he threw up. But Theo was transfixed with the back of Boris’s head; his hair was so fucking messy, shoulders so broad, skinny arms flexed around the toilet to the point that he could see the hint of a bicep. He stared at the tiny exposed stretch of pale skin between Boris’s long black hair and grey shirt. It looked so soft too. He imagined how it would feel under his fingertips, the barely visible hair so silky, just like his own. With Boris’s hair in his hand, he sighed, half-wondering if it was something Boris enjoyed. It felt more vulnerable than he’d ever remembered Boris being in front of him, he could’ve easily told Theo to fuck off, he could do this himself, but he didn’t.

Boris seemed to have finished by this point, and leaned back, flushing the toilet. Theo let go of his hair. “Theo, I wan—” he laughed gently, spit dangling from his chin.

“Wash your fucking mouth out.” Theo had intended for this to sound like a command, like telling Popchik to stop making noise or something, but when it came out, even he could hear the eagerness in his voice.

Boris seemed not to notice, though, and moved to the sink, putting his mouth under the faucet as the water ran. He swiped a hand over his mouth and pushed his hair back, then sat down next to Theo, where he was now leaning back against the tub. He stretched his long legs out, feet just reaching the toilet across from them. 

“You have bad hair.” Theo said, without thinking, looking straight ahead.

Boris let out a loud, harsh laugh. “Ha! Says you, Hannah Montana. We should go to bed.” He leaned his head down on Theo’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Theo froze for a moment, realizing how close their bodies were, only vaguely registering the Hannah Montana comment. Boris threw his arm lazily around Theo’s torso, seemingly deciding to go to sleep. Surely he could feel how fast Theo’s heart was beating, how tense his arms and hands were. Suddenly, he jerked away from Boris, out of his grasp, jolting him wide awake. They stared at each other in the harsh fluorescent light, looks of fright or disgust or just plain surprise. Theo pulled Boris into a hug, burying his face in his neck. He felt like crying, but he also felt euphoric, and most intense of all, he felt an utterly overwhelming longing.

Boris pulled back a little to look at Theo’s face, scanning from his eyes down to his mouth. Theo surged forward, pressing his lips to Boris’s, who responded immediately. They both gripped each other more tightly, Theo’s hands on Boris’s neck (it was so soft, so fucking soft, he couldn’t stop clutching the skin and the long curls), and Boris’s arms around Theo’s waist, pulling him closer, closer, as close as he could be without sitting on his lap (had they locked the bathroom door? it couldn’t matter, no one was home, but still, this was not—)

Theo gasped when he felt Boris’s tongue pressing into his mouth, and gripped Boris tighter, wow, had he ever felt this good? He grabbed another fistful of Boris’s hair and Boris moaned, kissing him with more vigor with every passing second. Boris was so warm, completely encompassing Theo, hands rubbing his back in a way that made him feel more relaxed and loved than he remembered feeling in a long time.

-

The next thing Theo knew, he was waking up on the bathroom floor, fully clothed, with Boris holding him like his life depended on it, and Popchik snoring at their feet. At first he felt nauseous, not just because of the hangover. He considered kicking Boris awake, they should get off the bathroom floor and quit the spooning, his neck was killing him and he was sure he heard stirring downstairs. But they had the bath mat to rest their heads on, and he felt safe being surrounded, for once. So he pulled Boris’s arms closer and felt him sigh and settle into him, and fell back asleep, lulled by Popchik’s snoring and Boris’s steady breath at his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! I got this idea from posting on tumblr asking if people thought that boris and theo would help each other vomit in vegas, and foreheadtouch and honeyseller convinced me that YES, they absolutely would. i'm on tumblr at borysvolodymyrovych, where i post about the goldfinch constantly.


End file.
